Mystery surrounds Father Peeples

In the 1940s, there was a monastery led by Nathanial Peeples over on Potato Island.

Have no idea of what kind of monastery. Probably few, outside of family members, knew for sure. Fact is, I never saw a soul on that island that even vaguely resembled a monk. We knew they were there, however many.

We heard the bell ringing.

“It’s a silent order,” people said. “The bell tells them when to do things.”

And all hours of the day, we could hear the bell ding dong.

Without air conditioning, our windows were open in the summer heat. Sound does travel farther over water and we were just across the May River on Myrtle Island.

Most of us in Bluffton knew Nathanial’s brother Luke who lived on Calhoun Street next to what is now Babbie Guscio’s The Store. Luke was a talented composer and musician. Like as not, you could walk past his house and hear him playing some of his music on the piano. Unlike Nathanial — who craved privacy — Luke was an accomplished raconteur and liked nothing better than to indulge in a conversation.

Potato Island has two docks, one on the May River and one at the back side of the island on a small tidal creek we called shrimp creek for the obvious reason it had lots of shrimp. On occasion, locals took their bateaux around there to throw a net for this delectable and easily attainable crustacean. Rumor had it that Father Peeples considered this an invasion and threatened intruders into “his” shrimp creek with a shotgun. I never had the nerve to take my bateau into such dangerous waters.

My friend, Margaret, told me the other day about a man whose bateau somehow ended up over at Potato Island and he went over to get it. Father Peeples met him and wanted to know what his business was. “That’s my bateau,” he said. “I’ve come to get it,” he told Father Peeples who he called Mr. Peeples. When it concerned his bateau, he wasn’t going to be too concerned with proper titles and what did you call a monk anyway?

“It’s mine,” said Peeples, claiming that it had appeared on “his” island.

“That is my damn bateau and I’m taking it,” said the aggrieved owner.

The hullabaloo finally became too much for the reclusive Father Peeples.

Too many people. Too many boats on the river. Too much noise.

The last we heard, Nathanial Peeples had taken his religious group and gone to the Everglades.

Sometimes, I wonder what happened to them there, if that is indeed where they went.